I Come Bearing Gifts (open!)

The staff room was empty but for one other guy, and Ferris gave him a little smile as he refilled the cookie bowl, snitching a few for himself. One could not suffer from low blood sugar at a school filled with meta kids. The guy came over, and he didn't have the feel of a teacher. Maybe he was one of those trainers or recruiters or the dude who unstuck kids from the ceilings or whatever.

“Ferris right? Those cookies were perfect, I’m glad you’re the new head chef.”

"Yup, Ferris. Thanks! And sadly, the cookies will probably never touch student lips. They're full of all those pesky allergens, and half the kids would probably make vomity faces at the dark chocolate and I'd be forced to kill them. Humanely, of course. I'm not some barbarian." Ferris made a big scoffing face, as if he'd be so gauche as to kill children like the barnyard animals they occasionally could be mistaken for. He held out a hand. "'S your name?"

“What’s for lunch doc?”

His expression never changed but his heart skipped about half a beat. He hadn't even put the title in his job application, but quickly realized the guy was just making a joke. Thank god. Ferris held up his duckie lunch bag and rattled it. "Today we have ham and cheese on rye and pumpernickel, pickled cauliflower, three pieces of leftover breakfast sushi, a container of Frosted Cheerios and rice crackers, pomelo, and a thermos of water that may or may not have Kool Aid in it. It's not saying and I see no point in forcing the issue."

Sitting down, he opened his sandwich (made of real ham cut off a roast he'd made four days ago and lumps of aged cheddar and swiss) and the two containers of crunchies and pickles. He unscrewed his metal water bottle and the water indeed had a... pinkish cast to it. Perhaps it was blushing. Ferris was too much of a gentleman to mention it.

"Do you teach?" He kind of doubted it, but then, Ferris didn't really strike one as a chef, either. Not without the white chef's coat, anyway, and that was back in the kitchen. His t-shirt had Big Bird's serene face stamped upon it and his jeans had a tiny hole behind one knee.

“Right. A barbarian would put the kids’ heads on steaks. Speaking of steak, will that ever be on the lunch menu?”

Ferris managed to smother his outright laugh into chuckles that didn't sound too hysterical. "That's cute. I have a hard enough time fitting hamburger onto the menu three times a month. And steak would take forever to finish."

The Hammel food budget was generous, more generous than at a regular public school, but it was never going to get the kids a steak dinner. Pot roast, maybe.

"Nice t' meet you, Tracy." Ferris shrugged at the bowls. "I won't tell if you take a few to go. There's plenty."

“I think I’ve seen those in the mall. Did you get it at that Tots N’ Things store?”

He snorted another laugh and took a bite of his sandwich. "I actually got it in France. I found out if people think something belongs to a kid they're less likely to steal it. And then, if they find out it belongs to a full grown man, even less likely."

Pushing his plastic container of Frosted Cheerios and rice crackers towards Jade he said, "Have some if you want. It's a good combo."

Sweet, salty, a little spicy in places, crunchy. Perfect with just about everything.

“What brings you to Hammel?”

"I was working at Kocher. The Swiss Hammel. Then this job opened up and I'm from here, so... why not? Besides." He leaned in. "There? I was a minion. Here? I have minions. Muahaha." He nodded. "Very satisfying."

Eating more sandwich, Ferris was still careful not to talk with his mouth full. "So what's being a recruiter like? I can't imagine making first contact with some of these kids without like, a tinfoil hat, a fire extinguisher, and full body armor."

“But yeah, that makes sense. There’s way too many kids here for that.”

"The closest we might get to that is meatloaf," he admitted. "But like, good meatloaf."

Ferris personally loved a good meatloaf with onions and pine nuts and tomato sauce, but knew a lot of people thought of it with distaste. And of course for Hammel he'd have to leave off the pine nuts and use gluten-free breadcrumbs... he'd have to experiment a little at home.

"Oh. Hold on." He dug into his duckie lunchbag when Tracy couldn't find something to put the cookies in and came up with one of his spare ziplocs. "Here."

Besides lunch, the duckie carried emergency ziplocs, folded paper-towels, a first aid kit, and a travel pack of wet-naps. Unsurprisingly, the duckie had accompanied Ferris to various fairs and street markets in Europe where each of those things had come in handy more than once.

“That’s actually a really smart idea! You must’ve had your lunch stolen from you all the time. Or it’s just an excuse to have that kind of lunch kit. I myself just label my food when it’s here.”

"When people find out you can cook, sometimes things... go missing," he sighed. "And duckie was both on sale and waterproof. And-" Ferris eyed the bag "-really sturdy. He's been to four countries and never even ripped."

Duckie had also served as an impromptu day reflector while Ferris biked, though now in the states he kept the bag inside his backpack when he traveled between home and school.

Tracy partook of the crunchy mix and Ferris ate more of his sandwich, popping breakfast sushi in between. "You know the whole salty-sweet thing? Like sea salt caramel and all that. I've always been a fan of that, and I don't like to waste time. I did the whole biking Europe thing and combining stuff was a way to cut down on... everything." He grinned. "I like rice crackers but some of them are kind of hot when I just want salty. I thought putting in the Cheerios would take the edge off. I've used Frosted Flakes too, but I like the Cheerios better."

“How is it out there? Any significant differences in schooling?”

"Not really, kids are kids," he said, laughing a little. "The only real difference is that kids in Switzerland typically go home for lunch, and it's pretty leisurely. At least an hour, sometimes two. So Kocher bucks the trend a little since the kids stay all day. And the kids don't take English, but like, Swiss French or Swiss German or whatever they speak. Oh, and they don't stick their noses up at the food as much."

“Tinfoil hats? Isn’t that to protect from aliens?”

Ferris spread his hands as if to say 'EVERYTHING HELPS'. He tossed the last corner of his sandwich into his mouth and took out his pommelo. It was already peeled and sectioned, and the other half was back at home because the thing had been the size of a softball. The fruit was a yellow-orange, like it was blushing, and he offered a potato-finger-sized section to Tracy.

"So where'd you get your ink?" he asked, curious. The Ferris Wheel on his chest needed a little touch up... maybe his arm ones did too. He'd see. Using a pinky finger, he pulled up the short t-shirt sleeve closest to Mr. Jade to show the arrow tattooed on his deltoid. "I can't say Vermont is exactly a hotbed of counter culture, but there must be some place here that isn't run by ski bums or maple syrup boilers killing time on the offseason?"

“Never ripped you say? Well, I might have to invest in one, but now that your secret’s out of, the bag what’s stopping me from stealing your food now?”

"One, you just admitted it, so now I can circulate your name and description, and two and more importantly, I mentioned that whole thing about how I have minions? I have minions." Ferris showed teeth when he smiled this time. "They always get first dibs on the goodies I bring in. It makes them very loyal."

For his staff sometimes Ferris brought in the big guns. Like strawberry cream cheese pastries or chocolate croissants or pretzel rolls. Unlike a lot of chefs he knew, he didn't have that overwhelming need to feed people. But Ferris did like to cook and often made more than he could eat and so far there hadn't been any complaining. Cooking at an institutional level was not typically very rewarding - you did the best you could with what you had, and there were always kids who didn't like it and were not too shy about saying so. And the staff were all good hard workers who followed directions and put up with all those long faces. Ferris felt they deserved a few treats.

He laughed. "You don't have to be a head chef to put together a decent mix. Just... desperate for space and willing to try new things. Besides, not all the combos I like are crowd pleasers. Like peanut butter and pickles. Don't judge me."

“The first one was done in the capitol city, right after I got my PHD. The rest were soon to follow on my various trips around the states – it’s hard to stop once you start. I think I have an addiction.”

Ferris tried not to look surprised and totally failed. "You have a PhD? In what?" And then, "I have one on the other shoulder and another here." He pointed to the area over his heart. "So what'll you do when you run out of space? Go for like, the crazy places? Like the inside of your lip. I hear that hurts like hell."

“Dustin... He’s good, he’ll touch you up just right.”

Laughing again, he said, "Down boy." Finishing another pommelo section, he added thoughtfully, "I've been thinking about getting a little outline of the Swedish Chef on my ankle or something. I like getting them where I can see them."

Narrowing his eyes, he looked sideways at Tracy and lowered his voice. "The Swedish Chef is actually our patron saint. I hear Thomas Keller has a shrine to him in his basement. Shhhhh."

“Does that make me a minion then?”

Ferris favored Jade with a sweet smile and tone he reserved for quiet Midwestern grannies. "Nnnnnnno." He gently patted the man's hand. "That makes you a mooch."

He laughed a little, shaking his head. "You know, if you're that hard up, you can come over some night I'm experimenting. So far I know that salmon lasagna tastes pretty good but looks kind of terrible, that pre-roasted marshmallows in cookies mostly works, and that you really can put kimchi in damn near everything." He paused, remembered, and added, "Except with peanut butter." Remembered further. "...Depending."

“See, now that really depends on what kind of peanut butter you’re using. I’d think the crunchy kind would work better for dill pickles and the salted kind would be better on sandwich pickles.”

Spoken like a man who'd probably only ever had peanut butter with over-sugared strawberry jam on white bread. Ferris, on the other hand, had done time in the peanut butter trenches. "Creamy Skippy is my preferred. Sweet enough to work with salty, salty enough to work in sweets. I probably still have an emergency jar of it in my backpack."

“Yeah that’s right, surprised?”

"Kind of." Since he had one himself and all.

"Must come in handy with recruiting." Finishing his pommelo, he took a long drink from his bottle.

“Inside of my lip, hmm, now there’s an idea... Or maybe my teeth, nothing like a permanent decay-like stain slash tattoo.”

"Or you could do your eyeball. I hear that's a thing now. Pretty soon they'll have bone tats that only show up on x-rays. You know, while the doc's in there screwing your leg back together he might offer to inlay some stainless steel that says 'Mom'."

“He’s more into tribal stuff, intricate things, but a little chef probably wouldn’t run you up too much.”

"I thought about getting it at the hip, but I thought if my shirt rode up it wouldn't send the right message. I do try to keep it classy," he said, as he picked up his duckie lunchbag and placed his containers inside.

“Really? Do you have a similar shrine in your house?”

Ferris's eyes looked about the room before they settled on the tall recruiter. His voice lowered again. "The Brotherhood of Bork Bork Bork requires a certain level of mystique."

He held a finger to his lips. "I'm sure you understand."

He whispered, "Keller lost significant status when the French Laundry started using vegetables that couldn't outsmart him."

Ferris looked properly scandalized and saddened. Then his face smoothed out to blandness. "And of course, you didn't hear that from me. I'll deny it even if they threaten to take away the Sacred Flamethrower of Coorn Pooping."

Ferris snorted a laugh. Jade must be hard up if he agreed to moochhood so readily.

“I’m down for seeing what kinds of crazy concoctions can come from the kitchen.”

Ferris's face was straight. "Cool."

“You live by yourself? I mean, roommates love free cooking, but they would probably end up being guinea pigs instead."

"Solo," he confirmed. "I came over directly from Kocher, so it was easier to find a rental than go through the whole screening roommate thing. And I don't just cook the mad scientist stuff. When I make chicken pot pie? It's handmade all the way."

Not one to toot his own horn, Ferris figured if he and Tracy became the kind of friends he thought they might, the recruiter would find out soon enough what kind of cook he was.

“An emergency peanut butter jar? Now that is interesting. Wouldn’t that be against your code of not poisoning kids with allergies?”

There was a first aid kit in the duckie. Ferris was never a Boy Scout but he did bike Europe and that taught him preparation better than he guessed some kid's dad in a neckerchief could.

"One, sometimes you need fast energy and a scoop of peanut butter's a quick way to do it. And two, I'm not poisoning the kids. It's my peanut butter. My delicious poison-y allergen." He didn't add MINE MINE MINE but it was evident on his face. Then Ferris laughed. "I hope it's not there. I do try to keep nuts out of the kitchen as completely as I can."

“Sometimes it does, but you don’t need to be a pysch to be a recruiter.”

And you don't have to be a history professor to shove pans of potatoes into ovens, he thought, smiling a little. "At least you have a doctorate that helps. It could be a doctorate of... oh... early American literature. I'm guessing you've made use of your studies without consciously knowing it while on the job. Don't sell yourself short. A psych doctorate is a useful thing."

“Right. Classy. That’s the message you’re trying to send?”

Ferris exhaled. "Mr. Jade," he said primly, "We are all class."

He patted his duckie on the flat head.

“Could the vegetables talk?”

Through closed lips he singsonged in a whispery voice, "Classified" while pointedly looking elsewhere.

“I surely have no idea what you’re talking about.”

An even softer whisper. "It's for your own safety."

“Well, looks like I should get to my next assignment soon. Need a lift anywhere? Or are you staying put?”

"Thanks for the offer, but I stay till dinner service starts. It's kind of a long day, but solo, right?" And he didn't mention that he arrived most days at 4 or 5 a.m. Most days he caught a nap in the back room about now, before dinner prep, but he had to help put away the new shipments. Standing, he stretched, arms over head.

"Drop by the kitchens sometime when dinner starts and if you're lucky I'll let you come over and eat my food."

Clapping Tracy on the shoulder, he walked out with him and split off to the kitchens with a wave.